Father of Mercies
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: God creates humans. Humans can only create monsters. 2003 canon, how the false son of Dante and Hohenheim of Light lost his faith and his humanity at the hands of his Creators.


They keep him in the church.

It is a cruel irony that he has yet to understand, because he thinks it is so he can praise his Creator, who breathed life into him once again, to allow him the second chance to grow old and die. He is now a monk, the solitary monk of an order which no longer exists. His instructions are his mother and his Bible. He never leaves. The Divine provides.

He kneels in front of the huge wooden crucifix and counts his prayer beads, mumbling in a language that isn't spoken anymore. The church is simple and some of it is breaking, and he spends his days fixing the roof, delicately cleaning the stained glass windows, restoring it to its better years.

When his father comes and sits in the pews and watches him work, there is anguish painted all over his face. "Now I know what you must be thinking, Father," he would call to him, as he swept the floor. "You are thinking, why not use sorcery? Why not use the power of alchemy to restore this poor building?"

His father says nothing.

The boy says, "I was a mistaken man before. I, who believed that God was not necessary in a world where humans could Create as they wished." He smiled and he shook his head. "I was wrong. And my Divine Father has taken mercy on me. Now I must live out my life in his name." He smiles easily. "Do you see? My life is a miracle. God has awakened me from my sleep; the glory is to God."

Silence. The boy resumed his work. Finally, the father said, "Whom do you see in yourself, my son? Are you Lazarus, or are you Christ?"

"I make no claim to be the Messiah," laughs the young man, "if that is what you are asking, Father. Lazarus was a believer, I am a believer. I see his story in mine, if anything."

A pause. The father frowns, a small crease in his brow.

He asks, "Who brought Christ to life again, my son?"

"Our Holy Father."

"Who raised Lazarus from the dead, child?"

"Christ did, Father."

"Christ. God's worker on Earth. God's hand, the divine Son of the Lord our God, holy but human. A man."

The father leaned forward in the pew, his eyes narrowing. "Who gave you life after death, my son?"

"God," says the boy. "Our God did."

"Are you Jesus Christ, boy?" he asks softly.

There is a dreadful silence.

"I am neither Christ nor Lazarus," says the boy, because he hasn't lost his intelligence and he realizes what his father is going to say. "I am my own miracle. I am your miracle. Are you not proud of me, Father? Justly proud of your achievements in God's name?"

"In God's name?" echoes the father. "God? I have not heard God's name since your death, my dear son, when I cursed Him and renounced Him. I am no worshipper of the Devil, unless I am the Devil, in which case I worship my powers and mine alone. You are no creature of God."

"Stop," says the boy.

"You are unholy for the same reason that you cannot use your alchemy to change this church," continues his father, his breath escaping his lungs. "You were created without God in mind. God creates humans, humans can only create-"

"_Stop!_" cries the boy, and the broom clatters to the floor as he flings his hands over his ears, falling to his knees. "Stop!"

"_-monsters_," finished the man, his lip curled in disgust (but at himself? Or at this shadow of his son on the floor?).

The man stands up and walks towards the trembling boy on the floor. He kneels down. Gently, he says, "I am sorry. I did not mean to create you. It is such a curse that you must inhabit his body, and have his memories. But you are not my son. My son was human and my son was good, and good only comes from God. You were created by man. It is a result of my failure that such a poor, evil creature like you exists. I cannot apologize enough."

The man turns and begins to walk, to leave the church. Finally the thing with the boy's face on it finds enough control to say, "Kill me."

The man stops.

"Would you," he says softly, "you, who are a physical manifestation of my sins – would you ask me to damage my soul even further? No, I cannot. I have committed too many acts against God in the name of my son to allow myself to kill his shadow."

The woman is waiting for the man outside. There is a moment where they can hear nothing but gentle sobbing in the church. He looks at her, but she only looks at the entrance to the church, waiting, smiling. The doors are open. They can see the thing that they intended to be their son at the end of the aisle.

And then there is a scream of fury. A scream that they have never heard before; it is inhuman. The thing is on its feet and it tries to follow the man. "_Hohenheim!_" he screams. "Hohenheim of Light! You will kill me! _You will kill me!_"

It reaches the entrance to the church; Hohenheim reaches out and touches his lover urgently, terror spiking in his heart. Dante shakes her head gently.

And the thing collapses, gasping for air, unable to even crawl.

Dante smiles.

"It appears my hypothesis was correct," she muses. "Unable to cross his human remains."

"They are not _his_," says Hohenheim, but she pretends she didn't hear him.

She walks right forward and sits beside the thing. He is shaking, but not out of terror; out of weakness. And pain. She strokes his golden hair. "Now, now," she purrs. "Listen to me, dear creature. You cannot leave this church. At every door there are your bones. You must stay here." A short pause. The thing looks at her, with wide eyes. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "Your God works in mysterious ways, my dear. Perhaps one day, you will become of use to him."

"My – _God_," says the thing, snarling. "I have no _God_."

"Your God," she says softly, "is your Creator."

Silence.

She stands up.

She steps across the threshold of the church and she says, "You can stand to wait. You're immortal now; did you know?" and then she closes the heavy oak doors.


End file.
